


pressed up on me

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“If you are meant to be on guard, you are not performing admirably,” he says at last, his words forming clouds of ice in the cool air. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The leopard blinks, its lips curling up to reveal gleaming white teeth. This is not a threatening smile. It is one of amusement. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	pressed up on me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts).



> I literally don't know how to write a PWP for the life of me. SIGH. 
> 
> Written for the [I Want Your Sex Ficathon](http://tosca1390.livejournal.com/331241.html), for Jordan, who requested Rina/Aden, sun bathing. 
> 
> OOPS. 
> 
> So, totally for Jordan. And everybody else. We ship what we want.

*

The first time Aden intersects with the female leopard changeling, he writes it off as a coincidence. 

There is no reason for him to have come. It is Vasic’s assignment and team, and he is managing them effectively. The empaths seem content, if frustrated; the infection from the Net just touches the edges of the compound. Whether the Arrows and Kaleb can buy them enough time to fix the infection ruining their race is a question Aden has no answer to; but he is content to give them the opportunity to do so, especially if the stability of his unit is aided. 

No, there is no reason for Aden to be in the forests today. Except that he – and it is a strange sensation to admit to – he _feels_ better, being near the compound. It makes little sense. 

It is a bright, sunny day as he makes his way on foot through the perimeter of the compound, weaving between tree trunks. His combat boots are stark against the pale cover of snow, sinking into the ground. There are eyes on him everywhere, but he accepts the watchful wary gaze of the changelings; he understands the gut-deep instinct to protect one’s own. 

When he turns into a clearing, blinking against the sunlight as it reflects the snow, he pauses in his trek. 

A changeling leopard, pale yellow fur with rosettes of deep gold and black, lounges over a large boulder, tail swinging lazily. Eyes flicker open, revealing dark eyes that take him in with no fear. Anticipation, perhaps. It stretches, paws tucked under its chin. 

There is something intrinsically female about its pose, the way it looks him over. Aden doesn’t quite know what to do with it, the response unfurling in his mind, the dissonance a mere echo in the wake of the pleasure he takes in looking at her. 

“If you are meant to be on guard, you are not performing admirably,” he says at last, his words forming clouds of ice in the cool air. 

The leopard blinks, its lips curling up to reveal gleaming white teeth. This is not a threatening smile. It is one of amusement. 

“I assume you are not on watch, then, as changeling soldiers are extremely dedicated,” he continues, remaining still. He does not approach any closer to the leopard. He is not a dumb man. 

Yawning, the leopard flicks its tail in his direction and shuts its eyes once more. 

Strangely on edge, Aden blinks and continues on his walk. He does not forget her. 

(He does not know how he knows the leopard was a female. Ivy would call it instinct, he supposes.)

*

Throughout the late winter and early spring, he sees the leopard at the same boulder a few more times. Once, he sits on the boulder next to her, to partake of an energy drink. She never moves and he never comes any closer, but it is a strange, comforting kind of companionship no matter what. 

It is late spring in full bloom, the first time he speaks to her. 

The empath compound, transformed into a training facility for newly awakened E’s, is still guarded by a combination of changelings and Arrows. The Arrows and E’s have a strange, symbiotic bond; even those who are not as closely bonded as Ivy and Vasic still thrive with the interconnections of the Honeycomb Protocol. His Arrows are stable and walking further away from the razor’s edge; Zaira in Venice reports that even those highly compromised by Jax are performing better in social situations. For this gift, Aden owes the E’s everything. 

That they will never collect and treat them as family is another nail in Silence’s coffin. 

Vasic, off active duty except for extreme situations, continues to be the leader on the compound’s security. As Ivy and Sascha and Sahara are here often enough, it is an easy decision, one approved by Kaleb immediately. Still, Aden likes to walk the familiar perimeter. He rarely goes into the compound itself; some of the empaths are still too sensitive to encounter a soul like his. 

He has a soul, though. He can own it now. 

It is that same instinct that takes him to the clearing again. Verdant green grass under his boots, he peers through the thick tree cover to a familiar boulder. 

She is there. 

She is in human form. 

She is naked. 

Stretched out on her front, her ankles crossed, long blonde waves slide over the curve of her back. Her skin gleams creamy and gold in the May sunlight. He imagines, in a long-dormant corner of his mind, that she will bronze in the coming summer, a wood nymph. Her hair reaches down to the middle of her back, and there is just toned muscle and skin and the line of her hip and ass and thigh, legs for miles, it seems – 

He blinks, desire gripping him fiercely, the dissonance collapsing under the sheer pleasure of watching her. 

Raising her head, she opens her eyes. Dark, gleaming in the sunlight. The leopard lingers there; he senses it close to her skin. 

She shifts, and he raises a hand. If she turns over, he will go to his knees. 

“Don’t. Please.”

Tilting her head, she rests her chin on her hand. “You’re the one who keeps interrupting.”

“You happen to be very close to the compound perimeter,” he replies evenly, his gaze focused on her face. If she shifts up, raises her shoulders, he could see the curve of her breast. 

The mental image sticks. He cannot blink it away. 

“The perimeter happens to be very close to my favorite boulder,” she retorts, voice warm. There is a strength in her voice, in every line of her body and face, that is more than changeling baseline ability. This woman is a warrior. He has met plenty of warriors, Psy, changeling, and human; this woman has snuck under his skin. 

“A pleasant coincidence, then,” he says at last. 

Blinking those wide dark eyes at him, she is still for a moment before a pleased, small smile curves her lush mouth. 

“Pleasant, huh? I’ll take it for now,” she says, her gaze dragging over him. “Do you have regular clothes?”

“My profession requires a certain wardrobe in a way that yours apparently does not.”

She shrugs, unbothered by his dry words. “Hey, I like clothes. Shifting ruins them.”

He knew this of changelings, of the process of the shift. But the easy confirmation from one changeling to an Arrow intrigues him. 

“You are loose with your information,” he says, thankful for the loose fit of his black uniform pants. His cock is half-hard. 

A golden eyebrow arches up. “You really think I don’t know what you know already?” 

An inexplicable urge to go to her, stretched out as she is in the yellow sunlight, and take her mouth with his grips him. He grits his teeth, rides out the urge and the corresponding dissonance. “I suppose you have a point.”

“How kind of you to agree,” she drawls. Her gaze flickers to his abdomen and lower. She pauses, meeting his eyes once more. “You know, I don’t always sleep.”

“When?”

“When you join me.”

When he is silent, her smile widens. “Sometimes I just look at you.”

The collar of his regulation black t-shirt feels too tight around his neck. Odd. “For what reason?”

“Because I like to look at you.” 

The silence settles between them, taut and overwarm. He wets his lips, a physiological response. Her eyes watch the movement and he sees the rosy flush rise on her cheeks. There is a corresponding flush rising on her bare skin past her hair, but he refuses to let himself look. Instead, he keeps his gaze on her face. 

He finds he likes looking at her, as well. 

“This is a bucolic spot in your territory,” he says. “I find myself here often.”

“I hope that keeps happening,” she says with a grin, teeth white. 

Hope. He tastes the word on the roof of his mouth. 

“I hope so, as well,” he says at last. 

She laughs, a low peal of a sound. Before he can turn his back to give her privacy, she pushes up from the boulder and shifts, a shimmer of light and skin and air. He catches just a glimpse of her breasts, the curls between her thighs, her taut stomach before he is faced yet again with the leopard that haunts his sleeping hours. Perched on the boulder, she tilts her head and swishes her tail before leaping away into the thick green woods. 

Aden stays in the clearing for a long while, sealing the mental images of the leopard whose name he still does not know into the secret compartment of his mind waiting for fulfillment. 

*

The ground underneath him is parched, aching for rain. Though not in drought conditions, the summer has been raw, sun-drenched. The forests surrounding the training compound creak with aridity, the air full of dust and the taste of heat. 

It is a day under hard blue skies and no clouds, the sun beating on their shoulders, that Aden kisses his leopard changeling. 

She sits on the boulder, naked again, her thighs crossed and her hair flipped over her bare breasts. The perimeter is quiet. Somehow, they do not have the eyes on them that he usually senses. This is their fifth meeting since May. He had thought that continued repetitive exposure to her naked form would dull his body’s physiological response. He is wrong. 

They have not touched, yet. They talk, or sit in silence. She asks about the Net, about the Honeycomb Protocol. Aden thinks she might be trying to ask if he has an Empath in the way Vasic does – Vasic and Ivy come to the DarkRiver territory for both business and pleasure, Vasic and the DarkRiver alpha having struck up an unlikely friendship. Aden cannot help but be pleased for the man who is his brother in everything except blood. 

In return, Aden asks about her life. He hears about her training, her brother, their independent life, the house they share as reluctant roommates. He detects an undercurrent of stress when she talks about some of the other soldiers in her pack, and there is a part of him that wants to ask of it, but they are not – intimate. He does not have those privileges. 

He doesn’t truly know what privileges he has. 

Today, she looks up at him, unashamed by her naked body. Perched next to him on the boulder he would assume to be theirs in the same way that Rabbit is now Vasic’s as well as Ivy’s, she drums her fingertips on her kneecaps and looks at him with unabashed sexual desire. He can scent it, analyze her body language and the difference in her flush from the sun and from his proximity, but he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He doesn’t want to analyze or process. He has read Judd’s research file and done thorough research of his own, and he knows that he wants to put his hands on her flesh and feel her mouth against his skin. 

And he doesn’t even know her name. 

“Aden?”

But she knows his. 

He looks at her. She has a strange smile on her face, her eyes heavy-lidded. 

“You’re wearing jeans,” she says, voice husky.

“It is my day off,” he says. He likes the way she says his name, low and full. 

Her lips part, wet and full. “You’re here. On your day off.”

“I am.”

She tilts her head. “Do you have an off switch?”

“I am not working,” he says evenly. 

“So you’re here for pleasure?” she teases. 

He says nothing, muscles taut under his skin and bone. He keeps her gaze. 

Something in her face softens, the flush on her cheeks pink. He wonders if her nipples will be the same pink. The image makes him bite down on his tongue. 

Abruptly, she rises and takes his hand in hers. It is their first physical contact. It sends a shudder of heat right down his spine. If the Protocol was still in place, he would most likely be dead by now. 

“Come on, it’s hot,” she murmurs, tugging him away from the perimeter and deeper into the woods, into DarkRiver territory. 

“I am not cleared to be in this sector.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ll be okay with it,” she retorts. 

“You are extremely free with your mouth,” he says. 

She turns to him as they enter a shadowed copse of trees, and he takes the chance to look at her fully for the first time. He is right; she bronzes in the summer, her skin a rosy gold that catches at every positive impulse in his body. The gold waves over her shoulders and down her back echo the fine yellow curls between her thighs. Every inch of her is toned and sharp; she would be a worthy sparring partner. 

She is objectively beautiful, and her mouth slides into one of her tart knowing smiles as he looks at her. Even in the green shadows of the forest, she catches the light. 

“I think you like that about me, Mr. Field Medic,” she says, walking right up to him. Her hands lay palms-flat on his chest. He can feel the heat of her through the synthetic cotton. 

His jeans hide nothing. The rise of his erection presses at her belly. “I’m not a field medic.”

She scowls, and it’s frank and lovely. “Whatever you do, it’s good.”

“I’m not good,” he says. There are no illusions on that front. 

She tips her head back and smiles. He can see the cat lurking in her eyes. “Me neither. Guess it’s a good fit.”

“I don’t know your name,” he confesses. He could have looked it up. But he wants her to tell him. 

Blinking, she smiles slow and full of promise. Her hands slide up over his chest until her arms are linked around his neck. He makes no move to touch her, yet he does not pull away. 

“Rina,” she says, rising up on her tiptoes. 

He meets her halfway. It is the first time he has kissed someone. He doesn’t close his eyes at first, just watches the flush of her cheeks as she curls into him, all that lithe strength in the cradle of his arms. He places a hand on her lower back, the other in the loose fall of her hair still warm from the sunshine. A sigh ripples through her, their mouths soft and together, and something instinctive snaps to life inside of him. 

Eyes closing, he angles his mouth and parts his lips, his tongue licking into her mouth. _That_ , she shivers under, and pushes him back towards a tree. Their legs tangle and they sink to the forest floor in a strange combination of limbs and low sounds, him on his back. She is a warm heavy weight over him, his hips settled between her thighs. As they kiss, his hands begin to wander, over all that bronzed skin. 

When he touches her thigh, she bites at his bottom lip. 

“No?” he asks, voice raspy.

She opens hazy dark eyes, watching him. “It was good,” she says huskily. “You’ve – you’ve really never done this.”

He blinks. The answer is unimportant. 

Rina kisses him once more, startling him, before she sits up into a straddle over him. She takes his hands in hers, eyebrows arched. “You have no idea what to do.”

“I can imagine,” he says coolly. 

She laughs, the sound warming him through. “Judd Lauren’s research file is nothing on practical experience.”

If Aden could blush, he might have. “I had no idea Judd’s file was so well-known.”

“Brenna brags about him. We all had to know how he got so good.” Her smile turns wicked. She places his hands on her breasts, and he is startled by the compact weight of them, how his large lean hands cover and warm her, the rise of her rosy nipple against his palms. Everything about her is lean, but here he has the softness of her. He squeezes and she lets out a low sound, arching closer to him. 

“Good?” he asks, voice lowering. 

“Very. You like?” she asks, biting her lip as his hands explore her breasts. 

“Yes,” he says, and thinks about it for a moment. “You should lean over.”

“Why?” she asks, a challenge in her eyes. 

“So I can use my mouth.”

“Shit – you Arrows learn quickly, huh,” she breathes. “Not a lot of teeth,” she adds as she shifts up, the wet between her thighs dragging over his stomach. He wants his shirt off, wants her skin to skin plastered against him, wants the mark of him all over her bare skin – “I like a soft touch here.”

He tips his head up and licks at the undercurve of her breast, taking in the salt and sun and pine sweetness of her skin. A low moan curls up out of her throat; he does it again. And again. Repetition and practice are an Arrow’s mightiest tools; he uses them well here as his mouth moves over the small rise of her breasts, the perfect curve of them in his large hands. She is quivering over top of him, her hands fisted in his shirt, dragging it up over his abdomen as he does so. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks, and she cries out, a loose and wild sound. It sinks into his ears and he memorizes it, holds it for safekeeping. He will remember this afternoon for the rest of his life. 

His mouth leaves her breasts and travels up to the slope of her neck. “Do you like teeth here?” he asks hoarsely. 

She nods, her hair falling around their faces like a curtain of sunlight. Her eyes, dark and full of heat, linger on his. 

As he bites and sucks at her pulse, she jumps in his arms, her body undulating against his. The forest is full of sounds around them, the wind rustling in the leaves, birds chirping. But he only has ears for her, for the soft hot wet sounds she makes as he marks her throat, the rustle of her skin against his clothing. He wants to feel all of her against his body; a possessive urge to mark he hasn’t ever had before in his life. The most possessive he has ever felt was for his fellow Arrows, to keep them alive and sane; this is related, but entirely different in its purpose and definition. 

One of his hands slides over the smooth toned line of her waist to grasp her inner thigh. She rocks into the grip, unresisting. 

“You would find pleasure if I touched you here,” he asks against her mouth. 

She blinks, her hands gripping his shoulders in a fierce, aching way. “Are you asking permission?” 

“I’m asking what you like,” he says. 

The way she looks at him for a moment, it seems as if she is stripped to the bone. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, her hair in wild disarray around their faces, she looks strangely vulnerable. He doesn’t like it. He likes Rina when she is mouthy and raw and bold. What he said to make her look so, he isn’t sure. 

“What do you like?” he asks, voice like gravel in his throat. His hand shifts to cup her sex, and oh – she is _wet_. He knew from sitting so close that she wanted him, was attracted to him – he could scent it in the air. But this - the tangible sensation of her desire hardens his entire body and makes him want to sink into her and never come back. 

She _wants_ him. It makes little sense. He does not want to correct her. 

Swallowing, she cups his face in her hands and kisses him, long and wet and deep. Her tongue licks against his, flutters against the roof of his mouth, and he rubs the heel of his hand between her legs, at a loss when her mouth is open and his and he can smell the pine sweetness and sunshine in her hair. 

“Here,” she says when she pulls away for a breath. “Come over me.”

He shifts and rolls with her. She falls onto the grassy ground with a laugh, her mouth wet from his, skin a deep golden pink, her throat and breasts marked from him. She spreads her thighs and he settles between them, his palm still rubbing her damp flesh. 

“I like the weight of you,” she says, voice low with want. Her hand follows the line of his arm to join his between her thighs. A jolt of erotic pleasure shudders down his spine. Not for the first time, he is utterly thankful his ability is not one that creates physical damage, or else he is certain he would have destroyed the copse of trees altogether by now. 

“I like how large your hands are,” she continues, voice like honey in his ears. “I like how you handle me. You aren’t scared of me.”

“I am positive I could take you down, though it would be a physical struggle, and not one I would want to undertake,” he says, slightly short of breath. 

Her laugh is husky and slow, as she curls her fingers over his and begins to guide them over her wet skin, delving into the folds of her sex. “And you call me mouthy.”

He leans into kiss her, already addicted. He thinks he could do this for the rest of his life. He _wants_ to do this for the rest of his life. She is tart and warm, her tongue an insistent press against his. She shows him how to stroke her clit, how to tease and circle, how she likes two fingers immediately, pressed in just so. She shudders and goes breathless under him, her hips rocking into his, her free hand tangled in the longish dark hair by his temples. He marks her with wet kisses over her throat and collarbones, licking the salt and sweat of her off her skin as he makes her come, three fingers deep inside and his thumb just brushing her clit. 

“Slow,” she breathes as he begins to withdraw. “I’m – sensitive.”

Aden wets his lips and strokes her slowly throw her damp curls, soothing her. Desire is a hard ache through his entire body, but he does not press. 

Until, she pushes him back onto his back and puts her hands on his jeans. “Ivy and Vasic need a bathtub,” she says conversationally as she strips him, leaving him naked to her gleaming and hungry gaze. “Do you?”

“I should be able to control my abilities, as they are mentally inclined,” he says through his teeth. 

“So why does everyone think you’re a medic?” she asks as she straddles him. They are skin to skin at last, and something decisive clicks inside of him, the hopeful seed blooming hard in his middle. 

“Many things can be controlled mentally,” is all he says. 

She smiles and wraps her clever strong fingers around his aching cock. “I like to control physically, myself,” she teases, rubbing her thumb over the leaking tip before she leans down to kiss all over the expanse of his chest, her fingers stroking him to his first orgasm. 

After, she stretches out over top of him, her face nestled into his throat. One of his hands settles on her back and the other tangles in her hair. She is still warm from their time in the sun. Their skins rub and stick together with sweat and pleasure. He likes the weight of her over him, and tells her so. 

Humming, she strokes her fingers over the fine line of his jaw. “I was wondering how many more times I’d have to wait around naked for you until you took the hint.”

“You did this on purpose?” he asks, simultaneously pleased and confused. 

A bite at his throat. “Not at first. You just happened to find me that one time. But then – well, I thought you were hot.”

_Hot_. He tightens his hold on her. 

“And I like talking to you. A lot. And I thought – “ she shrugs, lifting her head to meet his eyes. The sunlight creates a dappled shadow of leaves across her lovely, fierce face. “I don’t know. I like you.”

“I like talking to you as well,” he says. 

“Anything else?” she teases. 

“Everything else,” he counters evenly. 

She laughs. “I like your mouth.” She kisses him, strokes a hand through his hair. “So you want to do this again sometime?”

“Is now good?”

Her smile deepens. “Oh, I just might want to keep you,” she murmurs, leaning into kiss him. 

He tilts his head back and holds her close to him as their lips part, their tongues meet. He likes the sentiment of that. 

*


End file.
